


Responsible Adult

by erestor



Series: The Great Pestilence [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erestor/pseuds/erestor
Summary: Glorfindel has to learn that, just because you’re an Elf in a time of pestilence, doesn’t mean that you don’t have to act like a responsible adult.
Relationships: Erestor/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Series: The Great Pestilence [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103753
Comments: 24
Kudos: 42





	Responsible Adult

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by Eveiya
> 
> Look who's back, and it only took me five years and one pandemic!

Glorfindel took a step back upon entering the House of Healing. It was usually a place of serenity and science, the air filled with the aromatic scents of Elrond’s herbal concoctions. The smoked glass in the windows ensured a constantly dimmed, soft light which was soothing to the eyes of the sick.

Now, however, he found himself right in the middle of a scene which would not have been out of place in a Dwarfs’ washhouse. Or a Hobbit tailors’ shop. Or a ghastly combination of both. From huge cauldrons, an acrid stench was rising, along with huge, greenish clouds of steam. Clothes lines criss-crossed the illustrious halls like the web of a particularly untalented Mirkwood spider, and from these lines, small pieces of cloth were hanging, dripping a stinking greenish liquid, which gathered in small puddles on the normally so carefully scrubbed marble floor.

Glorfindel wrinkled his nose and was careful not to inhale too much of the fumes or step into one of the puddles. Amidst this Mordorian scene sat Mistress Mauburz, the only Orc in Imladris, and Master Erestor, advisor to Lord Elrond, and they were – sewing. 

“Just what are you doing there, beloved?” Glorfindel cried. “There are five merchants from Gondor waiting in your office, and you are here, doing – what?”

Erestor looked up briefly, then returned his attention to the rectangular piece of cloth in his hand. He stuck the needle through the green fabric one last time, nodded, then bit off the thread and threw his finished work with an elegant flick of his hand into the cauldron next to him. A splash, a small cloud of greenish stench, and Erestor sighed.

“Merchants, of Gondorian or any other origin, have no business being here at this time. Imladris is closed for business, as you well know. Send them to our guest quarters and advise them that they must not leave for the next ten days. Under any circumstances. Post guards in front of their doors.”

He reached for another piece of fabric.

“Ah, this is a nice shade of blue. It would bring out your eyes, Fin.”

Glorfindel threw his arms up. 

“Erestor, this is ridiculous! We are Elves! This pestilence is not our problem!”

Erestor wet the end of the thread, then closed one eye and looked down his long nose while trying to thread the needle.

“No, but it is the problem of Men, Dwarves and Hobbits. Therefore, while this pestilence is pestilencing all through Middle-earth, Imladris is closed for business, you are not spending your nights at the tavern and you will wear this facial covering like everybody else. Maybe Mistress Mauburz could embroider it with a golden flower?” He looked at the Orc sitting next to her, and she nodded.

“Mauburz can. But should? Maybe Balrog would be better? Scares off pestilence things!”

Glorfindel hooked his finger angrily around one of the clothes lines and let it ping; the multi-coloured pieces of fabric flew like bunting at a summer party. Just not as merrily.

“I am an Elf”, he repeated. “I am immortal.”

Mauburz snorted.

“Yes, yes, you immortal, nice for you. But Mauburz is not. And if Mauburz kicks the bucket, you be sorry, cry a lot and look ugly.”

“But I cannot breathe when I wear this – thing,” Glorfindel whinged.

Erestor rolled his eyes.

“Oh, for the love of the Valar, Fin. You fought a Balrog in full armour. If you can fight a Balrog wearing a helmet, you can wear a facial covering while taking a walk. Stop being ridiculous and act like a responsible adult.”

“I will look stupid. And anyway, I am an Elf.”

“Yes, you are an Elf. An Elf who will not have anybody to look after our sons if Mistress Mauburz should fall ill,” Erestor said, without looking up from his needlework. “Please contemplate the consequences for a moment.”

Mauburz arched an eyebrow.

“Yes, contemplate! Nice Lord Glorfindel and nice Master Erestor have nice sons who are not out of biting age yet. If Mauburz gets sick, will be awfully bad! Just think of King Thranduil last spring!”

“One should not become King if one cannot stand having one’s ankles bitten. And anyway, it was only a small, superficial wound. Such a fuss and all because of twenty measly stitches.” 

For a while, they remained in silence, then Glorfindel scratched his head. “Beloved, not that this will influence my choices in any way, but just out of parental interest: how long does the biting age last?”

Erestor shrugged.

“Maybe another year, or two… but please consider, once Estorel is out of it, Lórindol will only be beginning. And his teeth are much sharper. And they will both spend a lot of time at home. With you.”

Glorfindel looked down at his boots. He imagined himself getting up in the morning, his bare feet touching the floor. Estorel and Lórindol hiding under his bed. A year or two? Valar!

“I will go and talk to the Gondorian merchants,” he said, and left the House of Healing in a hurry. Erestor and Mauburz looked after him, then they both shrugged.

“Golden flower or Balrog?” Mauburz then asked.

“Golden flower,” Erestor replied. “We shall not gloat.”


End file.
